


A Collection of Oneshots in No Particular Order

by Mamma_Dragon



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Because writing an actual fic is a lot harder than it looks, Everyone Is Gay, Gay Male Character, Just a collection of one shots, M/M, Medical Trauma, Multi, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Self-Hatred, Self-Insert, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, because I do not know how to write that, but maybe one day..., but no sex, enjoy i suppose, so...., yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-01-01 06:24:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18330416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamma_Dragon/pseuds/Mamma_Dragon
Summary: So basically I am still working on my large fic but at the same time I have worked on some one shots like the mad man I am. Featuring an unsure Miraak with an elven male dovahkiin who just wants to eat snowberries.If this sounds like your cup of tea, boy what have I got for you!Though this may include some items not featuring Miraak and just my dovahkiin so...Prepare for that





	1. Strains of Madness

Dread crawled up Miraak’s spine as the ink crept into his throat and squeezed tight. He was choking and was dragging through the comfort of Nirn. The cold bitter air of Skyrim was torn from his grasps as the familiar musk of the moist fogs in Apocrypha wrapped around his chest. He screamed as he fought against the appendages that pulled him closer and closer the dreaded Black Books. The wretched things that drooled aged black liquid as the tips of his feet touched the warm yellow pages, gluing him back on as he struggled like a madman.

“Miraak.”

The voice was foreign and different, so crisp and clean unlike the droaning hums of his former master. Miraak gripped onto the lukewarm pages embedded onto the floor that bit into his bare palms as he forced himself up.

“Miraak?”

His fingers stained the floor with oozing paint as the Prince of Fates gripped harder onto his chest. He was suffocating and he was going to lose.

“Miraak!”

He snapped as an alien touch against his shoulders pulled him out of Hermaeus’ grasps and back onto the worn bed of Bromjunaar. The blankets were wet from his sweat that made his thin tunic cold. He shivered as the dim candlelight barely illuminated the room around him. Even now, he could hear the growls from the Prince’s Realm, but he wasn’t sure anymore if it was reality or not.

“Miraak.”

Elyden’s familiar voice swirled around him, forcing him to look at the elf who titled his head in concern. His green amber eyes narrowed into slits that looked gold in the low light. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.” Miraak growled as he wrapped the warm blankets around his shaking body. He brushed a stray strand of hair away from his field of view as he tenaciously turned away from the youngest Dovahkiin and focused instead on the pot of snowberries that withered from neglect.

Elyden audibly sighed and the weight of the straw bed shifted much to Miraak’s inner wishes. “Don’t be stubborn, it’s nearly sunrise and you’re whimpering—“

“I _don’t_ whimper.” Miraak spun his head at him and bore his yellowed teeth, instantly softening at the unfazed expression of the elf. He couldn’t help but give a small warning growl and he sat further away, it was a bitter reminder of how much he has lost in this new world with how...ineffective he was to others.

Elyden opened his mouth to say something but instead gave another sigh as he placed the shrinking candlestick aside to the bed and laid down. Not touching Miraak nor making any real noise, just silent and there.

Normally Miraak would find it annoyingly strange, but now, as much as his pride prevented him from ever admitting, he felt more at ease from the company. Even if it was with an inferior Dragonborn, it was at least with someone who wasn’t constantly plotting his demise or simply indifferent to his existence.

Miraak’s shoulders loosened as he gave a small glance at the elf, only to find him already half-asleep and right at the edge of the mattress to give him personal space.

Huffing out pent up whimpers, Miraak ran his fingers through his locks of hair to massage his scalp as he tried to think, it was really all that he had left besides his Voice. He knew that the sole reason he was even here was because of Elyden’s insane paranoia, nothing more. Just a tool in case Alduin decided to show his ugly mug once more, though he would not be really surprised if their bastard father Akatosh let the monster loose once more. It was fine, he used him to leave Apocrypha and pulling the strings to turn him into a proper puppet.

It was very entertaining to watch the elf constantly chasing after any stray dovah soul, but Miraak isn’t an idiot. He is stupid yes, people are in general forever cursed with stupidity that comes with the arrogance of mortality, he had long accepted this during his stay at Hermaeus’ clutches. But even he could see that it was a pointless game that Elyden was playing that was going to get him killed. Maybe it came with old age?

Miraak was a young boy when King Otar became Otar the Mad, but he remembers Konahrik sneering in disapproval as the former grand king chased after nonexistent enemies and traitors.

But Konahrik was always mad in his eyes, a true tyrant and a ruthless servant under the Dovah’s claws, but weren’t they always like that? He’ll never know nor ever ask in fear of his personal safety from the pyromaniac.

What of Ahzidal? Miraak frowned at the thought of his dead mentor buried underneath the ash for all eternity. He knew him his whole life, and watched as the lure of daedric knowledge twisted him into a mad Seeker who got caged like an animal from the likes of Vahlok.

Or did it come from obsession? Otar was deluded with rats in his kingdom to the point that every woman man and child was a suspect and put under the block.

Konahrik was blinded with devotion to their gods and concluded that everyone was to be mindless servants as they were or be marked as a heretic and put under the torch.

Ahzidal was hungry for anything more to learn in his pursuit for any new sliver of knowledge at the expense of his own sanity. Elyden is chasing after slain monsters to reassure that his destiny is completed.

And what of him?

Miraak uncurled from his cocoon of blankets and laid back in bed, not really sure of what he was going to do now. Bromjunaar was in ruins and never to be fully rebuilt, Paarthurnax is an aged dovah with a new cult under his wings, and Odahviing was friends with the elven Dragonborn. What a mad earth he has returned to, a home that long forgotten about him and his efforts.

But he didn’t spent thousands of years alone to mope about his woes. Because even after all of that, Akatosh has gifted him with the Thu’um which meant he was supposed to do something. Even if it was just as a backup for when Elyden screws up, Miraak was determined to rip out a spot for himself in history to become a legend like he was fated to be.


	2. Small Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This may be too OOC for some in which I apologize for but Miraak is an unsure bastard here and has abandonment issues.
> 
> And yes, I have made my Elyden befriend the other Dragon Priests because I simply can and want to. If that bothers you then uh sorry mate. But I’ve abandoned cannon as soon as I thrust Miraak out of Apocrypha alive.

Miraak wasn’t the one for prying and invading others privacy, it was inhuman and broke trust in his eyes. But curiosity forced him to slowly approach Elyden as he was scribbling  _ something  _ in his thin leather journal. Several scenarios rushed through his mind as he peaked over the elf’s shoulders only to be shot with even more suspicion as he was drawing something. 

He held his breath as Elyden continued to ignore his nosying and sketched a dragur wielding a sword with random notes. It was very messy but also very realistic, he could even see the rotting flesh and broken jaw from the thin charcoal pieces. 

“What are you doing?” Miraak asked as he carefully sat next to him on the hardened mossy log. 

“Drawing.” Elyden didn’t even look up from him before switching over to the next pages filled to the brim with random doodles, ones including him. But it was too quick for him to see properly. “It relaxes me.”

Miraak gave a small hum of thought and looked away as if it was nothing special. He had seen many drawings during his four thousand year stay and yet this was a bit different. To see ones of himself in the pages made him feel a bit special, like he was embedded into history as a piece even if it was just a glance. 

 

“Can I…?” 

 

“You draw?” Elyden looked up with confusion, there was stains of grey and black on his forehead and beard from the chalky pencil. 

Miraak gave a small shrug, not exactly sure of how to  _ phrase _ his next words. He has read many stories with the most intriguing and natural of conversations, and yet he felt awkward and unsure of  _ how  _ to start one. It was like that one amateur’s book that he tossed in the acidic ponds that the Lurkers call home as soon as he read the first sentence. 

Elyden looked at him suspiciously and handed over the journal with a fresh new blank page with his makeshift pencil from last night’s firepit remains. “Just don’t mess up mine, okay old man?” He gave a small smile, as if it was supposed to be a joke. 

Miraak rolled his eyes behind his mask but nodded. As soon as he held onto the brown leather paperback onto his hands and pencil, he was blank of ideas. He had run dry and really couldn’t bring himself to bullshit a doodle from nothing. 

“What do you usually draw?” Miraak glanced back at him, only to find him rocking on the log as he hummed a little song. It was odd, Elyden was always impatient and grumpy as the day he meet him, and yet now he was genuinely smiling and in a good mood once they got into the cold tundras of Whiterun. An alien feeling swelled in his chest but he pushed it away before he could dwell on it. 

“Hm? Oh well usually people,” Elyden turned the journal back a few pages in which a portrait of Morokei giving a loud snark with ‘he is laughing at my misery’ as a speech bubble right above his head. Another of Konahrik leaning against a balcony with their cane in hand with the words ‘grumpy old man’ beside them. 

It made Miraak smile a bit, he remembered Rahgot showing him a small shitty doodle of the same exact thing back when they were snotty brats. Only with exaggerated expressions and crooked pose, though he doesn’t remember if they got in trouble for it or not.

“Painting Nordic Ruins is my favorite but this isn’t made for such a delicacy.” Elyden poked the paper in which had small random pieces of the interiors of temple, Valthume if he remembers correctly from the giant frostbite spiders crawling on top of fresh corpses. Though it was probably unlikely due to how much has changed since his ‘death’. 

“You’re good.” Miraak said, internally face-palming from the simplicity of his words. Whatever happened to Allegiance-Guide? Who was born with a silver tongue able to sway kingdoms to his views without breaking a sweat. And yet he suddenly lost all skills acquired and honed, how pitiful. 

Elyden gave a small smirk as if he was about to make some remark but instantly melted into a kind expression. “Thanks, now how about you show me what  _ you _ can do?” He shoved the paper back and gave a small tap against his fingers, making him shiver from the contact. Miraak’s pride flared as he jerked back but deep down inside he nearly cried from the human touch. 

Miraak gave another indifferent shrug as he decided to do whom he knew best. The paper felt weird against his strokes, he was too used to the rich leafs of Apocrypha fit for kings but didn’t dare show any discomfort. 

“Is that supposed to be you?” Elyden held back a small laugh, one of his more genuine ones. Unlike the ones he force out during political meetings to loosen the tension. It was more natural and some of his stolen youth shined through as he bore a bit of teeth as his joy was spread ear-to-ear. 

“It’s who I know best.” Miraak gave a shit-eating grin, despite the heavy golden mask crowned on top of his head by Alduin himself thousands of years ago; before twisting into what it is now from the hands of Hermaeus.

The drawing in general was a small cartoon version of himself, similar to the ones he had spread all over his former cage’s walls. With large eyes, tiny bodies, twigy limbs, and big speech speech bubbles in every language imaginable spewing nonsense because of how much it irritated his master. Though he had pushed Mora’s patience too far and never touched a single easel since then. 

“Ah I can tell from those arms.“ Elyden pointed towards the exaggerated biceps he drew for himself. “Very accurate.”

“It’s natural fat.” Miraak defended himself with a harsh snap, only to realize too late that it was a joke. Even so he pouted and refused to look at him as his sensitive pride forbade him to. 

Elyden shook his head and said something but it was too quiet for Miraak to hear. After a good second the elf stood up with a loud stretch and pop of his aged bones then walked off to Whiterun. 

Panic threatened to burst out of Miraak’s chest as he walked further and further away with everything but his belongings in hand. There’s no way he’d go through this large amount of effort of breaking him out of the Woodland Man’s Realm, costing both of their lives and the world’s with his presence only to  _ abandon  _ him. There’s just no way—it doesn’t make logical sense—

Miraak has been alone for thousands of years, he should be used to this by now. He was used to it. But he has been spoiled from the few weeks he spent with others. Now the thought of being alone terrified him.

“Where are you going?!” He shouted as he shot up from the log, startling both himself and Elyden from the heavy echo, he forgot how loud his voice was when he wasn’t alone. 

“I said I’m going to the festival’s markets!” Elyden shouted back, only not as loud because he knows this land, unlike the man who was birthed and raised here. “You didn’t say anything so I assumed that you didn’t want to?”

“You did?” Miraak tapped his foot against the frozen dirt as he crossed his arms to strain his limited memory, not used to the hardness in comparison to the moist floor of Apocrypha.

He felt a bit worried, did he misheard or was he forgetting things that quickly? Back then he was considered an aging man, two-hundred more specifically thanks to the extended life forces gifted by his cubines and the dragons. Even so, physically he was probably now is in his fifties or so, which was grandpa levels back then. He had no idea how much that has changed since it’s not uncommon to see people in their eighties or now, much to his surprise. But now he has no line of slaves to fuel his life, and has no idea how much time he has left now.

“So do you want to or not!” Elyden shot back then softening a bit and loosened his tense shoulders, it made. “It’s fine if you don’t, you can just wait until—“

Miraak waved off his words and picked up his bag of items, only thing in there was his older clothes and a book of daedra that happened to escape with him. He had not had the...courage to burn every single remains of Hermaeus, including his mask that he so gleefully hides his face with. 

Without another word, he caught up with Elyden, but not ran as he does not run after others. He didn’t comment on how the elf gave a small friendly pat on his shoulders as they walked together through the thin grass. He didn’t comment on the load of relief that crashed onto him as soon as he was back by his side.

 


	3. They Weren’t In A Relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a small drabble about Miraak once again

One would think that months spent running from an angry Daedra’s minions and never getting a lick of sleep without the threat of having your throat slit would exhaust a person. But not Miraak, he was restless and jittery. The feel of the soft blankets suffocated him, the still fragrant air itched his senses, the warm candle light was too bright, the wooden ceiling was alien to him. It was too much, he couldn’t bring himself to rest even if logic dictated for him to get as much as he possibly can before they have to move once again. 

Miraak shot up from bed and pushed the blankets away, there must be something he can do to tire himself. He sat at the edge of the worn mattress and strained himself to remember what he did back in the day when he was a priest. It was impossible to remember anything besides reading books to only fall asleep by the fireplace, but he did not dare touch any scroll or journal. A shiver ran across his spine as he gave a wary glance at the empty bookshelves right by his bed. He could easily see the thin tentacles slowly creeping out from the pages and crawl onto the floor to wrap around his legs _ tightly _ . 

“This is wasteful.” Miraak said to no one in particular as he stood on the cold wooden floor of Proudspire Manor. He wondered, regretfully, if the Last Dragonborn had any methods of falling asleep to share if he wasn't asleep yet. It stung at his pride to ask for help from someone, but he shut that part of him down and wrapped a blue robe around him for the winter night. 

He carefully opened the door from the guest bedroom and glanced around for the elf. Elyden in the master bedroom from the open door and untouched bed, so he was awake as well. Miraak silently walked through the largely empty corridors of the house until he found himself in the basement where he found the fellow dovahkiin enchanting a necklace under a dim lamp. 

Brushing a hand against his lips, he wondered about the last couple days. Maybe it was the rush of the moment or the desperate want of human touch but when Elyden gave a genuine kiss to his lips he swore the heavens opened up above him. But were they in a relationship? No of course not, neither of them were ready nor wanted one. Despite the holding of hands, the tight embraces, or the mornings spent in each other arms, they weren’t in a relationship. 

Miraak gingerly stepped up behind Elyden and wrapped his arms around his fragile waist, feeling his restlessness begin to disappear. 

They weren’t in a relationship. This was just the years spent alone speaking, nothing more.

“Mhn?” Elyden shifted and rubbed the sleep off his eyes and tried to look at Miraak despite his position. The sight made Miraak smile a bit and dug his face onto his neck, basking in the real human warmth. 

 

They weren’t in a relationship. 

 

“What is it wuth jul?” The elf tapped his fingers against his and gave a loud yawn as it was late at night and neither of them were asleep. 

“Couldn’t sleep…” Miraak droned and felt his hold on the Last Dragonborn slowly loosen. Irrational fear forced him to grip back on, keeping the elf close and warm to him. 

 

They weren’t in a relationship 

 

“Do you need me to sleep with you baby?” Elyden childishly snarked and twisted around in his hold and gave a small tired smile as his amber green eyes sparkled in the lowlight. 

Miraak rolled his eyes but said nothing, leaning his head against his chest, listening to his quickening heartbeat. Pride swelled at his chest, it was nice to know that he could still make others nervous at his presence. But with Elyden it was a bit more special, it was not sexual but something else. 

 

They weren’t in a relationship.

 

“Well we can’t fall asleep here Miraak.” Elyden’s mixed Nordic and altmer accent always riled him up. In one hand it was a painful reminder of how much has changed. In another he loved hearing how the elf said his name, it made him feel important and a part of this world. 

“Why not?” Miraak responded, his voice a bit muffled from the thin tunic hiding nearly every inch of skin of the elf. “No one’s around to stop us.” He leaned in further onto his body as Elyden began to stroke his messy hair with such a gentleness that it made him want to sob. No servant in the past nor favorite whore that lived in his temple ever gave him such a feeling of warmth and happiness. 

 

They weren’t in a relationship.

 

“Who knew that the First Dragonborn was so  _ lazy _ .” Elyden made a small kiss on top of his head but stopped massaging his scalp, making him growl in distaste. “It’s cold down here—“

“That’s because your diet consists of snowberries and tea.” Miraak wiggled out from his warm cage and poked his nails into his thin sides, there was barely anything in there. The fact that Elyden gave him a bloody nose before still astonishes him to this day. “But your wish is my command dovahkiin…”

Miraak scooped Elyden up bridal style and gave a proud smirk as Elyden gripped onto his neck desperately. Even if the elf was nearly a foot taller, he was nearly two times the weight of the altmer. He gave a small peck to his thin cheeks, another for the arrow hicks and for the scars left from scheever. 

 

They weren’t in a relationship.

 

“Show off.” Elyden wiggled to get comfortable in his arms and leaned against him to not accidentally hit his head against the ceiling as they climbed up the many stairs until they got into the master bedroom. Miraak crashed them both into green bed and snuggled up against him, feeling himself smile as Elyden laughed from his beard tickling him. 

 

They weren’t in a relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Wuth jul means old man in dovahzul


	4. A wee sequel to the previous chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elyden’s perspective for once! And just to note, I headcannon Miraak as looking a bit monster-like. I don’t think four-thousand or more years in Book hell will do wonders to your appearance.

Years spent constantly waking up early before sunrise has accustomed Elyden to rise early for the day ahead. But instead he found himself confined in some kind of warm cage. He wiggled around and heard an annoyed grunt that held him closer. Prying open his heavy eyes, Elyden realized that someone was pressing him close against their chest, he could even hear their level heartbeat and breathing.

“It’s too early…” Miraak’s familiar voice rumbled against his ears. “Go back to bed elf…” 

Elyden calmed down and gave a small smile as he shifted around to level himself on the bed. He noted that Miraak never liked being the smaller one and always made him sleep below his chin level, damn nords. Normally he’d be a bit ticked off  at this but he found it more adorable than anything else, but still got back to his rightful place as the tallest and placed his chin on top of Miraak’s messy patch of newly grown hair. It still amazes him that the once scaled 

“We can’t sleep all day you know.” Elyden said, feeling a bit lazy himself, he blamed the priest for giving him this trait. “We have to get to the Hall of Vigilance if we want tentacle-face to stop attacking us.” 

“But why so early?” Miraak grumbled and looked up at him with those tired inky black eyes, he could see traces of chestnut brown in there from where the iris should be. “I would’ve sold my soul to have a sliver of actual rest back in the day.” 

Elyden decided to not comment on the soul part but rolled his eyes. “Weren’t you basically a king of Solstheim back then?” He pulled one of his hands free from Miraak’s hold and ran a hand through his own hair to straighten out the locks. “I’m more than certain that you were able to oversleep at least once.”

Miraak’s face frowned in thought and gave a small shrug. “Suppose I did, maybe I did not, but it is pleasant to finally sleep for once.” One of his arms rose up to rub the tips of Elyden’s pointed right ear, grinning from the odd expression the elf was making. 

“Agh!” Elyden wiggled out of Miraak’s hold rolled off bed, nearly collapsing onto the floor, earning a chuckle from the nord. “You are just a lazy bastard!” 

“And you are an overworking elf.” Miraak responded as he sat up slowly and brushed his messy graying brown hair with his clawed hands. There was small bits of human growing back on the scaled palms, showing off dark tan skin that he was more than happy to show off. 

Elyden couldn’t help but roll his eyes once more and stretched for the day ahead, sighing as his muscles relaxed and bones cracked. Though extra sleep sure did sound nice, even if he should be making breakfast by now. Especially since he rarely gets to sleep with Miraak, in both definitions of the word. 

“Alright,” Elyden jumped back onto the red bed, twisting himself into the thin layered sheets to escape the morning cold. “How much longer do you desire, wuth jul?” He then crawled on top of Miraak’s lap and pushed him back onto his back despite his annoyed hisses. “Since you  _ obviously  _ are so tired?”


	5. Odd, but not unwelcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to talk about their backstories a bit.

Elyden chewed on the rabbit leg’s bone as he sat perched by a small fire pit while Serana was out ‘hunting’ and Miraak idly weaving a basket out of dandelions across from him. He picked his teeth subconsciously as he silently watched Miraak struggle to get the weeds to cooperate. 

It’s the first time he had seen him without his mask without having to ask too, it seemed like the Vigilants of Stendarr weren’t kidding with their skills. As the first time he had seen him without the golden mask he had lost all remnants of humanity. Hair was replaced with thin appendages that had a mind of their own. Eyes were angled like a Seekers and bottomless with their inky glare. Skin was a clump of overgrown dark scales that puffed in the cold. Forearms longer than normal man’s with angled claws. Feet perched like an animal’s and rivaled the hagravens in repulsion. 

Personally Elyden didn’t care much about Miraak’s appearance, he had fucked werewolves and vampire lords so it was nothing new. But after dropping him off to the Hall of the Vigilance and promised a new daedra-less Miraak, he was still astonished of how different he looked. 

For starters he had actual hair. Long tangled brown locks that had begun to grey. And skin, dark bronze skin with little hints of scars and scalps that have aged for thousands of years. Just a normal looking fifty year old.

The only thing remaining was his eyes. They have taken back their human shape but still were pitch black with inky veins surrounding them. There were specks of a man’s iris but barely. 

It was odd and still very much new to Elyden, but not exactly unwelcome. Admittedly enough, Miraak looked kinda nice. Cute even, especially with that beard. He was a sucker for them.

He still remembered sobbing like a bitch once he recognized that voice, that damn annoying, grating, nice, voice in a completely different body. He still remembered crashing onto him and nearly strangling him for scaring him to death like that. He still remembered smashing his lips against his as soon as he could despite the publicity of the place and the awkwardness of Serana.

His homosexuality aside, Elyden tossed the bone into the forest and sat over closer to Miraak as he struggled to keep said ‘basket’ intact. 

“Where did you learn to weave?” He restrained from leaning over him, the drama of their reunion after the destruction of the Hall of Vigilants still lingered at his pride. Even if the hugs and kisses were  _ so  _ nice.

Miraak didn’t even look up at him, angling his fingers to try to tie a strained dandelion around another with the yellow flower facing him instead of inside the basket. 

Elyden frowned a bit, usually he’d retort back quickly, but at the same time he had never seen him so focused on something. He didn’t know much about him about him either way so for all he knew Miraak have been weaving baskets his whole life, though the state of the thing said otherwise. 

His journey with Serana made him realize of how little he knew of Miraak’s personal life as soon as she began to casually talk of family and friends. It was odd, he had traveling with the former priest for nearly a year now and didn’t know much about him besides smaller facts and of what others have told of him. Mostly that he was a tyrant and a ruthless leader. 

Basically a cruel calculating bastard as Konahrik liked to say, though he had stopped taking their words to heart as soon as Miraak kept accidentally slamming his head on signs from being too tall. 

“Did you have any family?” Elyden asked, rocking back and forth in his spot as he hummed a small tune.

Miraak paused and turned his head at him, narrowing his eyes and lips curling into suspicion. It was still jarring to see him so expressive once the mask had been slipped off. “Why do you need to know that?”

Elyden gave a casual shrug. “Meh, just wondering.” He took one of the weeds that crumbled into the floor and began to pick at the soft petals. “We are planning to be allies after all-“ In theory. “and we know jackshit about each other so…”

Miraak’s face twisted into thought then just returned the shrug, going back to focus on the basket once again and plucked the one out of Elyden’s hand to add to his creation. “I don’t remember.”

 

“Oh I’m—“

 

“I do not care for them.” Miraak continued, bearing no real reaction but there was a bit of a quiver to his lips and voice. “Ever since I was a child it’s been  _ beaten _ into my head that the Priests were my family and the Dragons were my overlords.” A string of makeshift rope tore from his harsh tightening, as if he forgot that they were simple weeds.

Elyden drummed his fingers on the oak log as he thought of a way to continue this conversation. “So no one in your life who you held close?”

“I...” Miraak’s tone trailed off into contemplation. “I suppose Rahgot is closest to what I’d call my brother.”

“ _Really?”_ Elyden gave a scoff as he remembered struggling to not strangle the short bastard the instant they’ve meet. “That short-fused _dick_ back by Riften?”

“Are you really that surprised?” Miraak glanced at him and gave a small shit-eating grin. 

 

Elyden sighed. “Suppose if I think about it, no.”

 

Miraak gave a throaty laugh, it sounded a lot less cold and echoey without the golden mask. “I’ve grown up with him, back when we were both priests training under…” He paused to think. “...Premviing I think...By the Gods were we the worst.”

Miraak leaned on the fist of his hand and gave a nostalgic smile as he stared into the forest. “Ever since were moved into the temples, the other brats and I made it our life goal to make Premviing’s life horrid.”

“Were you ever caught?” It was not hard for Elyden to imagine a tiny Miraak running around causing misery to others, though he still does that now from time to time. 

“Plenty of times.” Miraak gestured to his back. “The whips were harsh but oh was it  _ worth it _ just to see Premviing struggle to clean the soot off her robes in time.” He gave a mischievous grin. 

“Ah so you were a problem for them even  _ before  _ the revolution?” Elyden chuckled, though he didn’t really remember himself being bratty. He was a good obedient child who always smiled. Too obedient.

“It’s my job too.” Miraak twirled a finger into his loose hair locks in thought, making it a lot curler than it actually was. “Would you believe me if I told you that Rahgot was once a bright blue eyed blonde?”

Elyden drew a picture in his mind of a young messy haired Rahgot running around in the mud screaming about cooties. “Of course he was.”

Miraak laughed again as he put aside his basket gently, it was still far from finished. “Even though I moved to Solstheim under Master Ahzidal,” His tone and expression lost their joy and became more solemn and regretful. “him and I still wrote letters to each other as if we were still twelve. I even visited his kingdom to be there for his wedding.” 

He leaned onto his palms completely as he stared into the dwindling embers of the campfire. “I’ve missed him a lot during my time in…” His voice completely trailed off.

Elyden gave a small pat to his back, feeling him flinch a bit at the touch but instantly relaxing. “Sorry if I have—“

“Don’t be.” Miraak shrugged him off. “What of you? I don’t know ‘jackshit’ about you neither.”

“Ah well,” Elyden stopped rocking on his spot and forced himself to relax to hide the guilt thumping in his chest. “you do know what the Thalmor are. Right?”

“The black cloaked elves?” Miraak didn’t exactly ask, it was more of a statement. “The ones who tried to arrest me for Talos ‘worship?’”

Elyden drummed his fingers on the log beside him to keep himself from breaking down in nervousness. “My parents were good folks,” He felt a pang of homesickness but pushed it away. “Kind, good, just people.” 

“Aren’t the Thalmor supremacists?” Miraak tilted his head at him, but still not exactly looking at him. 

“Yes very much.” Elyden casually said to mask the pile of guilt rising in his throat. “They are good parents but  _ terrible  _ bigoted people which is why my sister and I ran off.”

 

“Sister?”

 

Elyden gave a small ghost of a smile. “The eldest in the family, god she was such a cunt.” He gave a laugh. “But aren’t all siblings are?”

 

Miraak gave a nod in agreement. 

 

“And now I am older than them by twenty years,” He leaned on top of his palms that rested on his knees as he stared into the smoldering flames. “And they’ll never know that their son is alive and well.” 

Maybe it was out of respect, or out of social awkwardness but it became completely silent between the two. It was a silence that was different compared to their other moments, there was a sense of respect. The only thing accompanied the silence was the birds chirping and the fire crackling from the lack of wood.

It’s rare that Elyden finds himself at peace with the constant threats and worries that seem to permanently surround him, but now it was different somehow. The evening was warm and quiet, the sky was colorful and cloudless, the firepit was dim and hot, and Miraak was bundling up against him. It was nice. Odd for someone so used to be panicky all the time, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Premviing means Patience-wing by the way, she is no one important, I just wanted a different priest to talk about.


	6. Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried to do some angst and instead got Miraak monologuing to himself? So uh enjoy?? I have no idea myself???

It’s nice having a mask. It can easily hide your true intentions. It’s safe. And it usually frightens others into silence with the unnerving fake look.

Miraak has worn the mask for thousands of years now ever since he had gained his name as Lok Sonaak. It was rare that he took it off even during his priesthood as it was deemed forbidden for the lessers to even gaze upon a divine mortal’s face, even if plenty including him broke that rule. 

But the Dragon Priests are no more, and he is no longer part of such a vile organization. So why did the thought of even taking off his mask slipped his mind until now? Maybe old habits die hard, or was it his pride refusing to show anything vulnerable about himself, or was it because of fear? Fear of how much four-thousand years had done to him? Fear of how his emotions and thoughts would betray him?

Miraak scoffed at himself for even thinking about it, he was scared of many things but of how others perceive of him? That’s just childish. Besides, he was completely alone. The Last Dragonborn was passed out in the living quarters of his temple, and his cultists were all murdered by said Dragonborn. 

A frown spread across his face as he remembered how the Last Dragonborn elf nearly destroyed his last chance of escape and slain all of his followers he wasted years gaining. 

 

Out of spite. 

 

And he thought he was an idiot.

 

He wasn’t sure of what he thought of Elyden. Miraak acknowledged that the elf definitely had the soul of a dov in him with how much it glowed and ran around inside his body with every decision. He had only seen it in other dragon’s, but never in someone like him so it was  _ very  _ interesting. But even with the will of a dragon in him, it was not enough for Elyden to do the one thing he was meant to do. Kill Alduin. And that was the most interesting thing.

Miraak shifted in his wooden chair that has not aged well throughout the years neglected in his once beautiful temple, it was his ‘thinking chair’ as Ahzidal liked to say. Apparently he came here to sit in this exact spot ever since he was a small boy to think or to read. Suppose some habits don’t fade into nothing over a thousand years but it was a nice spot with the crackling of a fireplace behind him and scattered ancient books piled up to be used as kindle.

He remembered Zahkriisos scolding him for staying up late again at night, but her eventually sitting down to join him as they both shit-talked about everyone and everything. It brought a small smile onto Miraak’s features, though it instantly faded as he remembered her screaming out in agony as a dragon crushed her spine underneath their claws during the rebellion. All of his family and friends lost for nothing, just for him to be hidden away like a grand trophy to show off to the other Daedric Princes by his mast-Mora.

His hands tightened around his the arm of his chair that still remained intact as he carefully glanced over at the pile of books. As if in any second now one of them would leak in that would wrap around his body and soul and drag him back into his hell. 

Miraak didn’t dare touch them but he conjured up a spell of telekinesis and not so carefully placed each rotten tome into the fire that gobbled them up gleefully. It was a waste, but his fear tucked away as the pile eventually got smaller and smaller until none was left but dust. 

A sigh escaped him among with whatever energy he had left as he relaxed onto his chair, drumming his fingers against his golden mask as the familiar clink of metal nearly lured him to sleep. Miraak shot up awake and shook his head viciously. 

“Don’t be a fool.” He growled to himself as he sat up properly, back straight and full attention at the room across from him where he could see the Last of his kin making small notes on his journal in the library when he was supposed to be asleep. Miraak couldn’t believe that he was so quick to relax at a situation like this. 

He was dead tired, he wanted to know what it was like to rest again as he was stripped off that luxury during his imprisonment as he completely forgot. But not in front of someone who could easily decide to slit his throat while he was asleep. Miraak had to stay awake, he had went too far and sacrificed too much to sleep now. 

Pinching himself in the arm, he struggled to keep his eyes open as body stiff. Miraak could feel himself going limp and a yawn escaped him before finally giving into his body’s needs despite his complaints.

But it was not a peaceful night. Hermaeus was sure to make sure that of all things, that Miraak would not forget him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it’s confusing, don’t worry I am myself but basically this is like after Elyden frees Miraak and such


	7. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small headcannons stuffs

It’s rare that Elyden finds himself at peace with the constant threats and worries that seem to permanently surround him, but now it was...quiet. The night was warm and silent, the sky was colorful and cloudless, the firepit was dim and crackling, and Miraak was bundling up against him. It was nice. Odd for someone so used to be moving all the time, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

“Miraak is a given name, right?” Elyden asked as he laid his head against his chest, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. 

The former priest gave a small hum of acknowledgement, his hands busy with weaving a piece of worn rope, he is getting better. It looked more sturdy than usual in comparison to last week’s dandelion basket.

“Do you wish to know my real name?” Miraak responded with a lazy sigh as he placed his hand on Elyden’s back. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” Elyden dug his face into Miraak’s grey under armour clothes. “I can tell you my real name if you’d like.” 

“Elyden’s not your name?” Miraak grumbled as he shifted in his spot, running a hand across his locks. It was not exactly rare that Elyden had his ponytail down, but rare for him to allow others to pet it. So this was a delicacy too precious to let up. 

The elf frowned, was he really willing to tell him about this? He glanced up at the nord, to find him looking back at him with those half-lidded brown eyes that he grown to love. Elyden always had a knack for eyes in his lovers, to him they were some of the most attractive parts of a person and could tell you a lot about them. 

Like Vilkas’ angled pale blue eyes that burnt an angry fire of vengeance during a Silver Hand attack. Farkas’ soft and kind bright indigo irises that brightened around companions and his friends. Teldyrn’s rolling of red eyes that glowed in the dark every time they broke into an ancient temple. Marcurio’s warm tan eyes that mocked him once he found that he was lightweight with mead.

But Miraak’s was a bit different. Maybe it was because Elyden was used to the inky irises that was bottomless and unnerving as the sea. They weren’t anything remarkable; chestnut brown with hints of grey around the pupil. 

Maybe it was because of how emotive he was now. Even with a deadpan expression, he could tell from his brows and lips of how much he was displeased with everything. It also showed of how much Miraak adored the sunsets every evening and morning, how much he hated the feeling of certain cloths and textures, how much he concentrated on his weavings and crafts, and how terrified he was of scheevers and giants. 

“No, it isn’t.” Elyden cuddled up against Miraak’s chest, he knew it was stupid to be so willing to tell this nord of his secrets. Secrets that could jeopardize his entire life if told to the right person, but he still trusted him of all people. Annoyingly enough. 

“Back home” Elyden frowned, he didn’t consider the Isles his home, yet he couldn’t help but instinctively say so. Old habits die hard. “I was Vuanre before I grew a brain and ran off.” He gave a small laugh to ease the tension, mostly for himself.

“What does it mean?” Miraak shifted around in his bedroll, putting an arm around his shoulders and playing with his pointy ears. It made Elyden feel odd every time, but he could care less at this point. Nearly every non-mer he meets does this so there’s no point in complaining.

“I have no idea.” Elyden glanced up at him lazily with a smile through the thin layers of greyish blue clothing. “I just thought it sounded pretty, but I think mine now is nicer and easier on the tongue.”

Miraak gave a small hum of thought, leaning his head against his idly. Elyden could feel his chest heaving up and down and the beating of his heart, it made him laugh silently to himself as he remembered joking that he had none. And yet now he could hear it pounding heavy and strong, admittedly enough it was rhythmic for his sensitive ears. He likes to listen to it when it’s late and too energetic to sleep, though it’s three in the afternoon. What lazy bastards.

“I was admitted into priesthood as a child, so I was mostly referred to ‘firok kiir’ or simply ‘dovahkiin’.” Miraak’s expression twisted into a shit-eating grin. It took Elyden a bit to translate and he laughed among with him. “But my name before Miraak was Stenmor, they tried very hard to make me forget.”

“Why?” Elyden sat up and stretched with a loud yawn, feeling his muscles scream in delight as he finally moved for once but instantly relax as he leaned against his arm next to Miraak. “Is it for the cult-like vibe?”

Miraak sat up as well as he ruffled his recently cut hair, now just shoulder length instead of on the verge of having a full curtain of tangled locks.“You’re not wrong, but from what I remember it was symbolic of leaving your past life behind and into a new one.”

 

“That’s neat—“

 

“A new life of licking the boots of dragons and murdering others for their sick delight.” Miraak interrupted, grumbling at the end as cold distaste dripped off each word. “Fine life fit for gods indeed.” He glanced up at the sky past the tent’s thick walls and glared with hate. 

“Meh, still cool history wise.” Elyden scooted over onto his lap with his back behind him. “I’m surprised that you still even remember your name.”

Miraak carefully wrapped his arms around his waist, digging his nose into his nose with a relaxed sigh. “I remember the most unimportant things in my life, including you.” He made a breathy noise that Elyden understood was a lazy laugh. “But I like Miraak better than Stenmor.”


	8. A small bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elyden wonders why the fuck he has fallen for Miraak like the rest of us

Elyden gave a kind smile as he shooed the waiter away and close the door behind him. He felt uncomfortably warm, though it could very well be because of the humid air inside the private bathrooms he had rented out for himself and Miraak. Personally he was fine with just washing in the lakes and streams, but once they settled into an inn for the night in Solitude, Miraak had already ran off to the saunas to scrub off of any dirt and tick that might have leached into his skin. So he had agreed to let him, on the condition that they do it together to where Elyden can watch him and make sure Miraak doesn’t murder anyone. Also on the fact that Miraak pays for his own bath and services. 

“They replaced the tubs with wood and the flowers look different.” Miraak’s voice echoed within the small room fit for a couple. It had pots of dragon tongue scattered around with its fresh fragrance. The walls were reinforced with colorful rocks and marbles that have been painted over with the oceans and islands. The fire underneath each tub that has been encased with stone against the wall crackled as the water steamed. 

“Happens.” Elyden pulled off his armor plates and robes, sighing as the tension had just rubbed off among with some of his sore skin. Good thing he had wasted a good amount of coin in herbal water, the bandit raid from last week still lingered at his bruised and cuts. “It shouldn’t be too bad for you, wuth jul?” 

He turned around to look at Miraak who sneered in annoyance and refused to look at him. The elf couldn’t help but stare as Miraak slipped his royal blue robe-like tunic off as gazed his eyes over the dovahzul markings on his back that has aged with time. His cheeks went red as he looked at the muscles that flexed on his shoulders and the aged scars inflicted by both blade and magic that stretched among every movement. But Elyden could still see way off on his hip a small patch of green scales that puffed in the warm air surrounded by inky viens. Seems like Miraak isn’t completely human yet. 

If Miraak knew that Elyden was looking at him undressing, he didn’t say anything as he ran a hand through his recently cut hair that still had curls at the end and glanced wearyfully at the bath. He then carefully dipped his leg into the water with uncertain fear then sighed as the hot water relaxed his nerves and he practically melted into the separate tub.

Elyden gave a small laugh as Miraak hid his face in the bubbles in nostalgic bliss as he slipped into his own tub as well. The smell of blue mountain flowers and lavender stung at his tongue as the petals floated in the disturbed bath but it felt  _ so  _ nice against his sores and wounds that have refused to heal. The boiling waters made his skin red, as well as the scrubbing of a certain patch of mold, and it was just so nice and relaxing. Annoyingly expensive but so worth it if he gets to be clean for once in the end; even if it would last a day at least.

“I forgot how nice this was.” Miraak dramatically said as he spread the soap among his hair and body, hissing as some fell into his eyes. “But more expensive compared to back then.”

“Meh,” Elyden grimaced at the coloring of the water as soon as he wiped the old dirt and stranger’s blood off himself, it looked like he murdered someone here. “I suppose it is for someone who was a king back then.”

Miraak rolled his eyes as he leaned against the edges. “My point is, everything costs more in comparison of the Merethic Era.” He swiped a stray strand of pale brown hair away from his eyes. “It’s interesting to think about.”

“I suppose.” Elyden stretched out his toes and poked Miraak in the nose, even if he was in a completely different tub a foot away from his. It took a bit of manavuring to do it but Miraak’s bewildered expression was so worth it. “Personally I like the culture of the past rather than economics.”

Miraak nudged his foot away from his face with a grimace and raised brow. “Hard to relate when that’s nearly all that I have been reading about for a good while, but I imagine that would be boring for someone of  _ your  _ caliber.”

“Bah!” Elyden sat up and smashed some water on him with a mock hurt expression. “I’ll have you know that The College of Winterhold made me their archeologist for a reason!”

 

“So glorified grave robbing?” 

 

“You know what I mean.” Instead of snaring as Elyden’s gets this comment all the time on his profession he bore his yellowed teeth as he laughed. “You know very well that it is  _ not  _ ‘grave robbing’.”

Miraak gave a small smile in response, it was barely noticeable but it was enough for Elyden who always felt better from making him feel better. 

Funny how a year ago Elyden had considered just trapping him in Apocrypha to solve the problem and how Miraak obviously just wanted to use him as a puppet. Maybe Miraak still does and this is just a game for it, Elyden wouldn’t be surprised but it would hurt a lot more now than it would’ve back then. It was stupid, Elyden knew very well that it illogical to fall for this former tyrant who once desired to devour his soul during their travels together. And yet here he was, seriously caring about the other’s feelings and well being. And enjoying his company. He blamed his loneliness.


	9. Fancy Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-Cannon things, old but I haven't updated this for a bit

“It’s been a while since I’ve worn something so fancy.” Elyden said as he ran a hand across the finely woven dull red cloth of the robes adorned with a thin leather vest and silver necklace. 

Miraak gave a small hum as a response as he not so discreetly watched Elyden struggle to get his hair to cooperate, rumbling about their dryness. He gave a small laugh as he kept dropping his pins and perfumes with scattered curses under his breath.

They were both going to a meeting of some sorts, to finally end the Civil War and to declare war against the Thalmor, as well as for Miraak to declare himself as High King. And so Miraak forced Elyden to dress nice for once and not use his absolutely ruined armor for the meet up, no matter how much he complained. Miraak may barely remember anything from his past, but he would not stand for Elyden to host a meeting while looking like a hobo who just got ran over by a mammoth. 

Even Hevnoraak, one who walked around her temple smelling like rotten bodies and human waste, cleaned up for Konahrik’s calls to Bromjunaar. So Elyden had no excuse, but was allowed to bring his sword just in case. 

“Aren’t high elves supposed to be fancy?” Miraak asked as he adjusted his own dark blue collar, a bit reminiscent of his older priestly robes but different. With the same type of soft cloth touching the floor in a ‘wizardly’ manner that Elyden liked to call but with only armor plates at his shoulders. It was mostly just to piss off the remaining priests who were also joining them. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Krosis struggling to not strangle him right then and there.

“Bah! Don’t even  _ mention  _ that to me!” Elyden groaned dramatically as he adjusted his robes’ long dress that nearly touched the floor. “I absolutely dreaded the parties I had to go with Mother!” He glared at his stubborn hair and went back to a simple ponytail with a satisfied smile. 

Miraak glanced back at him and couldn’t help but flutter at the sight. He had meet many gorgeous people in his life, some of which he owned way back then, and Elyden isn’t a remarkable person by his high standards. But now with the proper clean up and the messy hairdo he looked adorable. He wanted to go up to him and squeeze him tight and close. 

“How unfortunate for you.” Miraak teased as he walked up behind him, trying to stand on his tippi-toes to at  _ least  _ be the same height as the elf. He brushed a stray strand of silver hair behind Elyden’s ears and rubbed the points for no particular reason. He just liked the feeling. 

“Yeah it sucked-“ Elyden gazed down with the same exact confusion he bore on his face every time he touched his ears for more than a second. “Look I’m down for pre-meeting sex but we’ve only got an hour so…”

“By the Divines you’re  _ obscene _ .” Miraak drew back his hand and sneered at him with childish disgust. “The fact that you don’t have every single disease imaginable at this point astonishes me.”

“It’s called safe sex my dear ol’ Miraak.” Elyden held onto his chin and rubbed a finger over his trimmed beard. 

Miraak leaned against his rough hands and gave a small sigh of bliss. He basked in the touch and felt his eyelids become heavy but quickly jolted awake and wretched away, much to to his own dismay. 

“I suppose I cannot complain.” He focused his attention on the mirror to fix his thin golden armor plates that was reminiscent of a dragon’s, supposedly. “I was a devote to Dibella waaay back then...”

“You crusty old man!” Elyden laughed as he shoved Miraak back a bit with a toothy grin. “No wonder you—“

“Oh hush young one.” Miraak put a finger to his lips that felt a bit soft from the oils applied to treat the chapped-ness. “You are but a child to what I am capable of.”

“Ah, and do you plan to show me what  _ exactly  _ are you into?” Elyden nudged the finger away and gave a small flick of his tongue. “Or do you want to continue being a bottom bitch?”

Miraak scoffed and refused to look at him nor acknowledge the growing heat on his cheeks. “I am  _ not  _ a ‘bottom bitch’!” He irritatedly crossed his arms and tapped his tall metal boots on the floor, even if in tradition he would’ve worn leather slippers. 

But not much did if he remembered correctly as it was absolutely freezing in Bromjunaar’s palace even in the hottest of summers. Though he did remember Otar coming absolutely shoeless and sockless because he forgot, he never thought that he’d see wrinkles on a toe but it was forever burned into his mind of all things.

“Don’t be a downer wuth jul.” Elyden wrapped his sleeved arms around Miraak’s waist, squishing some of the soft warm chubbiness that slowly began to melt away due to his odd diet. Even a year in Nirn has made his eating habits unpredictable and annoying to manage.

“I was merely jesting with you.” Elyden continued with a snobby tone as he brushed his lips against Miraak’s ears, making him nearly melt. “Now finish up, we’ve got to leave soon if we want to make it in time.”

Miraak gave a small grumble as response and tore away from Elyden’s hold, refusing to even think about the tumble of emotions rolling inside his stomach. They were friends with benefits, nothing more or less. 


	10. Cold Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shorty short short

It was finally winter. The sky is grey. The snow is soft. And the air is cold. Despite being born in the tropical islands of the Atlmer, Elyden loved Skyrim’s freezing temperatures. It made him feel relaxed, at home, and at peace. 

“I don’t recall it being  _ this  _ bad.” Miraak growled as he bundled himself up on his thick coat inside the tent. 

Elyden gave a small laugh as he closed up the tent and laid back down on his sleeping bag next to him. “Welcome to Skyrim.”

“A warm welcome indeed.” He grumbled as he tried to wrap himself up in more layers, even using his hair to cover up his reddening face. 

Miraak then took Elyden by the waist, much to his confusion, and hugged him close and sighed in contempt.

“You know if you wanted to cuddle you could’ve just asked.” Elyden said as Miraak was leeching him off his heat.

He ignored his words and held him closer, with his cold nose digging into his neck. The bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow never realized how short it was...aw well


	11. A Mini Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was based off an anon on my tumblr which basically asked for a one-shot of Miraak teaching Elyden a shout so here you go!
> 
> (My tumblr related to these kinds of works btw: https://a-tired-elf.tumblr.com/post/185741703894/hey-there-i-saw-the-post-about-the-miraak )

“Elyden, why do you use so little shouts?” Miraak asked randomly as they sat on a mossy log, right by the cliffs of the Reach with their lunch and thoughts.

“I do?” Elyden looked up from his sketchbook and curled his lips in confusion.

Miraak put down his book to look at him properly in the bright afternoon light that hurt his eyes. “You only use Fire Breath and Unrelenting Force, maybe Frost Breath or Cyclone but that’s really it.”

Elyden frowned and properly put away his sketches before leaning back on his arms. “Why does it matter? I use the thu’um when needed, unlike someone.”

“It’s like you barely know any.” Miraak insisted. “Do you know Lightning Shield?”

The elf’s face was enough of an answer for him. In one hand Miraak was offended, even the lowest of the low knew this Shout way back when he barely knew how to cast a spell. But at the same time, the Greybeards taught Elyden only a few Shouts and the rest were learnt by accident.

“Lightning Shield.” Miraak straightened up his back and felt himself shift into ‘teaching mode’ that he remembered doing for a young Vahlok. Or at least that’s what Ahzidal called his long lectures. “Storm, Flesh, Statue.”

Elyden paused for a second. “Strun, Slen, Nus right?” He got a proud nod in response, he puffed up his chest in return. “What does it do?”

“Storm gives the power of the angry sky to wrap around your body like a tight ball.” Miraak waved his hands among the clear sky and clenched them together into fists, Elyden following every move carefully.

“Flesh tears and rips at any nearby foes’ bones and pulp who dare to approach you.” Miraak expanded his fists and clawed at his chest, bearing his teeth to signify his point further.

“Statue grants your skin an extra layer of armor to where no blade and cut through.” Miraak held up his forearm to the sky, letting the sleeves bore his tan hide. And used his nails to scratch through his skin to where he left small marks.

“So it’s like a mix of a lightning loak and an alteration flesh spell?” Elyden asked, instantly breaking Miraak’s entire meander.

“Well yes but—“ Miraak dropped his hands to fold across his chest. “Do you want to learn a new Shout or not?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Then stop asking dumb questions!” Miraak snapped before softening, no need to get frustrated over a simple question. “Now get off your ass and lets go.”

“Why…?” Elyden tilted his head at him as Miraak shot up from his spot and brushed the moss and lichen off his robes.

“I don’t want to be accidentally knocked off a cliff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also thank you to all that left kudos, comments, and support on my works both on and off ao3 here! <3 
> 
> Feel free to ask for one-shot requests (keep it sfw) but idk how to do LDB/OC x Miraak stuffs so......Gonna only get Elyden x Miraak ones


	12. Snowy Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to write Miraak shoving snow into his own face

Miraak forgot how quickly the winter came in Skyrim, and yet after a thousand years it still feels the same. The snow was soft and crunchy. The sky was a mix of greys and blues. His breath was a mist of dragons that melted the snowflakes off his nose. It was the same, but so familiar. And he loved it. 

He reached out with his bare hands and spread his fingers to make sure that no bits and pieces escaped him. The cold bit at his fingers in a familiar way of when he was a young man finally going outside from a long day of studying.

A smile invaded his features as he remembered him and the other small to-be priests running outside Bromjunnar with the others to play in the fresh snow like children. He remembered Rahgot shoving a handful of ice into Vokun’s pants only to get a faceful of snow himself from…someone. It wasn’t Krosis, or was it? It didn’t matter, because in the end Rahgot was angrily chasing after someone blind with redened cheeks before getting shoved into a snowman. He also remembered him holding a cup of a warm drink, he didn’t remember who gave it to him or why or what it even was, but he was  _ craving _ it. 

“You’re not too cold are you, wuth jul?” Elyden’s voice broke into Miraak’s thoughts. He stood next to him in such thick layers that it hindered his movement like a penguin. With a furry hood and mask and all. But even with that he looked to be freezing.

“Not at all.” Miraak looked at the melted snow on his hands and rubbed it against his cheeks to feel it. He wanted to feel cold, to feel it sting at his hot skin. 

Elyden scoffed as he hugged himself and moved around on his feet to keep warm. “Of course you aren’t, you’re atmoran right?” 

 

“That I am.”

 

“Probabs just slightly  _ chilly _ for you, eh?” Elyden rolled his eyes as he tucked the scarf up above his broken noise that was red as a rose. “Damn you and all of your predecessor nords.”

“Haven’t you lived here for a decade?” Miraak crouched down to press his hands against the nice layer of snow, even feeling some of the frozen grass and flowers that remained. “Why aren’t you used to it?”

“I have been in a hot ashland for nearly a year Miraak.” Elyden replied as he watched in disbelief at the atmoran who willingly shoved snow onto his own face and neck. “Now don’t get sick okay? I don’t need you dying of the common cold before the ripe age of sixty.”

Miraak gave a hum as his response as he sat crosslegged, taking off his hood to let the chillyness set it. 

“Gods looking at you is making  _ me  _ colder.” Elyden grumbled as he pulled his fluffy hood closer to his shivering face. “If  _ I  _ get sick, I am blaming you.”

“I’ll add it to the list.” Miraak leaned his head back to look at Elyden and gave a small smile before pulling on the elf’s coat’s hems.

“Miraak I’ll freeze to death.” Elyden said with a deadpanned expression but didn’t exactly stop Miraak from pulling him into his lap.

Miraak maneuvered around with the long man to properly get him to relax at his lap without overwhelming him. He wrapped his arms around his waist and barely rested his chin on top of his shoulders. It strained his neck but he couldn’t really give himself to care.

“Better?” Miraak’s thumbs rubbed against Elyden’s coat’s pleasantly thick leather that make a nice noise. “Or still too cold?”

“I’m still freezing.” Elyden wiggled in his spot to get comfortable and gently held onto Miraak’s cold hands to warm them up. “But I appreciate the effort, wuth jul.”

“So grateful.” Miraak kissed his back and dug his cold nose in for that familiar warmth. 


	13. A Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morokei is cool okay? And I just wanted to write in his perspective though this will never be done I think

Morokei’s drumming of fingers echoed throughout the dead palace as he stared at Miraak. He’d never thought he’d see the man ever again, nor alive and well in front of him. 

A conflict of emotions twisted in his stomach; on one hand he was glad to see Miraak again. Even if the man was well into his fifties now, Morokei still remembered peering into a well woven basket to see a chubby baby who was born with the soul of the dov. He had watched the man grow from a bubbling toddler to a troublesome child to a spoiled teenager to a silver-tongued king of Solstheim. But every priest he knew was cruel in some way, and he was no different despite the thoughts insisting that he was an exception. 

In another, Miraak was a Traitor. He himself devoured dozens of dragons, burnt large cities, and slaughtered many fellow priests. But Morokei knew it was a necessary kindle to the revolution, even if a caged anger threatened to erupt from his hollow gut for the death of his friends and spouse. It was a necessity, a needed push for the war that ended the tyranny that he himself was blinded to. 

All in all Morokei wasn’t really sure of what to think of Miraak sitting at his dining table back at the empty ruins of Bromjunaar. He watched the man brush a stray strand of brown hair behind an ear where a puddle of burnt skin was visible at the cheek and around the ear. Morokei couldn't help but be a bit jealous that Miraak was still alive instead of cursed in an undead form like him, though the taste of immortality reminded him that it didn’t matter. 

So Morokei continued to watch Miraak staring with adoration at Elyden who talked of many stories. He knew that look, he remembered seeing Volsung give Nahrikiin that same look as she worked on her experiments with silent concentration. He remembered Konahrik giving him that look when he researched on the Eye of Magnus and it’s Staff. It was not something new, Morokei was an old man and had seen many different variations of love. But odd for someone like Miraak show anyone a sliver of interest. Unless it was just another sick ruse for his cruel amusement.

Elyden stood up from the table and ran off to go get something, Morokei really didn’t hear but noted that it was just him and Miraak. Alone and silent in the large dining room where he once helped a small Dovahkiin tie his shoelaces properly back when he was alive. 

Morokei leaned onto the table and anchored his chin on top of his tangled fingers and stared at Miraak. 

Miraak sipped from his cup of water and avoided eye contact. “Elyden speaks so highly of you.”

 

“That he does.” 

 

Miraak looked over at him and tilted his head with a slight frown. “He does know of what you’ve done, right? Or did you plan to make him into another experiment like the others and making him think you were good would make abducting him easier?”

If Morokei’s mouth and lips haven’t decayed into dirt he would’ve smiled. “Don’t try to guilt me, goraan sen.” The lich wasn’t sure if it was guilt or disgust he felt from Miraak’s words. “We both know that we’re not innocent of our crimes against mer and man, Stenmor.”

Miraak visibly flinched but stood his ground. “No wonder he’s so good at dovahzul, Namon, you’ve taught him well.” He tilted his head and kept his blank stare. “He told me that the only reason you hadn’t slaughtered him was because he knew the language,  _ so _ friendly.”

Morokei grimaced. It has been ages since he last heard his real name. Last time he could remember out of the top of his head was when Konahrik kissed him to sleep before sealing the tomb. 

“What kind of mentor would I be if I didn’t?” Morokei didn’t like small talk. “But I am curious of your true intentions with my apprentice, Stenmor.”

Miraak put down his drink and faced him fully, pulling a small braid from behind his ear onto his shoulders. “You’re the one to—“

“I know you Stenmor.” Morokei said, narrowing his eyes to watch for any weak points in the First Dragonborn and finding none. “I know the games you love to play and of how little you care for others.” 

 

“Now—“

 

“Listen to me very carefully.” Morokei interrupted, his tone still neutral and calm. “If you dare hurt Elyden in any shape or form I will make sure you wished Alduin devoured you when we first brought you into this city.”

Miraak obviously didn’t take his words seriously, but nodded. “I have nothing against your apprentice, Master Morokei.” Oh gods how had he never noticed the patronizing tone. “Though maybe except for his snoring.” 

“Couldn’t agree more.” Morokei smiled as much as he could, feeling sick from how unaffected Miraak was from his words. 

“Sorry that it took a bit!” Elyden came back, holding a thin leather long bag. He looked suspiciously at the priests but didn’t comment on Morokei’s staring. “Hopefully nothing too interesting happened while I was gone?” The elf leaned over to give Miraak a peck on the cheek before sitting down. 

“Not really.” Miraak relaxed at the sight of him and brushed a hand against his pointy elven ears with a gentle smile. “Him and I were just catching up about the old times.”

“Sounds lovely.” Elyden brightened at the touch, Morokei wasn’t sure of what to think of it. “But either way, here was the staff I was talking about.”

Elyden unwrapped the bag and out slipped a golden priest staff that had literally snapped in half. The one that Morokei gifted to him. 

“Oh sweet Mara what have you done to it?” Morokei reached over and took the head piece, feeling his heart drop at the cracked metal and ruined carvings. “I hoped you hadn’t used it as a wacking stick.”


	14. Sleepy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit old but I like it and I haven't posted a one-shot in a bit due to school and personal things going on my dudes
> 
> But it's basically just fluff with a touch of angst

Cold air wrapped around Miraak’s hot skin as he shuddered even with multiple layers tied around his body. Condensated breathing escaped him as he struggled against the restlessness that has always plagued him. Miraak thought that years begging for sleep in Apocrypha would give him a deep desire for rest back in Nirn. But instead he was wiggling around on the cold floor of a thin tent meant for one of the Reach as he was wide awake. 

Before deciding to sit up and go run around in the forest to tire himself out, he heard Elyden nearby murmur. Miraak carefully tilted his head at the elf to not make  _ too  _ much noise behind him in the bundled up sleeping bag. Elyden twisted around violently and dug his face into the walls of the sleeping bag with random words of nonsense. The priest didn’t see his face but knew that nightmares were eminent. 

Miraak’s been getting them too, images of ink and blinding yellow eyes. It doesn’t sound like much but it’s enough to bring a shiver to his spine. He can still feel the thin hands clutching at his throat, the slimly appendages twisting through his veins and the eyes seeping into his skin. 

Another shudder from the cold convinced him to scoot closer to Elyden, fully facing him this time as he was inches away from touching. He hesitantly brushed a finger against the elf’s rough warm cheeks and felt the tension rub off them both. The atmoran smiled and moved a bit closer, twirling some lose hair out of Elyden’s head and pressed his lips against his forehead.

Elyden smiled in his sleep and slowly opened his eyes then wiggled out of his fetal position and pressed against his chest. Miraak flinched at the suddenness but carefully placed a hand above his head and another where his waist would be.

“What time is it?” Elyden muttered as he inched his head against Miraak’s spiky beard. “I’m so sleepy.”

Miraak glanced around the cramped tent, it was barely lit enough for him to be able to see Elyden in the dark. “Go back to sleep, you need rest.”

“You're the one who woke me up.” Elyden replied as he glanced up at him with a sleepy stare. “Nightmares again, wuth jul?”

“I’m fine.” Miraak said simply as he stroked his hair, not feeling comfortable with talking about his woes so easily. “Not so sure of you though,” He heard Elyden hum in mock disbelief. “I woke up to your whimpering and talking.”

“Ah.” Elyden nudged some stray tears off his face. “Silly dreams, mostly of Alduin being a bitch.”

“Silly is an interesting term to describe him.” Miraak mused as he carefully pressed his lips against his head, feeling him relax. 

“Meh…” Elyden sighed onto his chest. “It really doesn’t matter, I’ve been getting them ever since he cursed me.” 

Miraak gave a hum of acknowledgement. It was hard for him to believe that Elyden wasn’t actually in his hundreds, but would actually be younger than him physically if it weren’t for the curse. He can’t imagine him with young black hair, bright eyes, and a full set of teeth. But it really doesn’t matter to Miraak, he’d still be older by a thousand years even if he looked to be in his fifties.

“They’re just dreams, wuth jul.” Elyden gently kissed his neck and dug his nose into it. “Nothing more-“

“Shush.” Miraak huddled closer, getting drunk on the human warmth and touch. “And go to sleep, elf.”

 

“Mnn fine.” Elyden muttered as he nuzzled closer. “I love you, Miraak.”

 

“I love you too, Elyden.” The atmoran replied as he rested his chin on top of his head, feeling his exhaustion take over and eventually finally went to sleep.


	15. Snapping an Arm off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So a long while ago https://trans-miraak.tumblr.com/ suggested to do Elyden and Miraak (or vice versa) healing each other and I finally ‘finished it’. I do plan to put it in the main fic so it’s not really actually finished, just finished enough for me to post. It’s a bit…triggerish. I will put in tags just in case as this was made during a bad time in my life but I am a bit proud of it. If there needs to be more tags just ask.

“Be careful!” Elyden warned as Miraak squirmed under his healing hands spell. “Keep moving like that and I  _ won’t  _ fix your arm.” 

“Stop wasting magicka on me and use it on yourself.” Miraak coolly replied as he struggled to stay sitting up under his shaking hands that were torn up from the fight before. “I can mend my own wounds.”

The elf simply rolled his eyes from that as he pulled off the proud bastard’s torn chain mail that hung limply around his torso. Elyden grimaced as he could see the strained breathing as new arrow hicks dotted at his chest that was staining his skin with blood and pus. He carefully dragged a wet rag over them only for Miraak continuing to dramatically flinch and hiss like an animal.

“Miraak I swear on all of the good will I got, I will break more of your limbs myself.” His words were interrupted as the atmoran continued to squirm in his spot under the trees. 

Miraak rolled his eyes. “Well maybe if you weren’t so slow I wouldn’t be in this situation!” 

“I’m sorry?” Elyden suddenly gave a tight pull on the bandage he wrapped around the other’s shoulder. “Would you like to repeat that?” 

“I said that if you weren’t so slow, I wouldn't have gotten my arm nearly torn from my socket!” Miraak spat, his teeth bore and gums bleeding. His pent up fury and anger that burned in his eyes fueled Elyden’s. 

Elyden had to keep himself in control. He refused to stoop so low. “Ah so I am just a liability to you, eh?” He snarled himself, giving a nasty glare as he wondered if it was worth the trouble to break his wrist to mend his own hurt. 

“You couldn’t even handle Alduin-“ Miraak’s words were cut off with his own scream as Elyden slammed his forearm against a thick stone, snapping the already abused limb into pieces. 

Before anymore words would be Shouted, Elyden hurled the stone aside and stormed off into the ruined town where there was no survivors. He was such a moron. Hadn’t he learned to not stoop to violence? Hadn’t he grown from such petty and dangerous actions just because his spite demanded it? Apparently not! Apparently all that was inside his empty thick head was dense air! 

Suddenly a bolt of pain ran down his left ankle that refuses to mend and the altmer realized he left his staff and pain killers behind with the bastard he called his friend. But Elyden refused to face said bastard to get his necessities, even if he was beginning to tear up from how much his ankle was making his legs shake and body ache. 

He was also crying from how stupid he was. He shouldn’t have frozen up at the sight of a dragon. He shouldn’t have feared for his life the moment that same exact Shout sounded exactly like the one Alduin used to tear apart his flesh. He shouldn’t have let so many people die whose lives were at his hands. He was at fault here. And he was a moron and not worthy of anything. As if that was a surprise. As if Akatosh himself didn’t do his job for him back in Sovngarde. As if Auri-El didn’t begrudgingly saved his life when Elyden was slowly slipping away. 

 

Useless and Pitiful.

 

Frustrated tears ran down his sore face because of how irrational he was. Even if Miraak was a dick, he shouldn’t have made his injuries worse. He shouldn’t have broken his bones when he was already in pain. And now they were gonna have to deal with a non-functional limb and they were already slowing down from his aging body refusing to keep up with his needs. He truly was just a liability and should’ve have died back in Sovngarde. It would have been better for everyone including himself if he was no longer around to screw things up. 

“You forgot your staff.” Miraak’s voice jolted Elyden with surprise, the altmer truly realizing where he was. He was at the small town square near the well, leaning against a cold metal pole that was a lantern for the cold nights. There were so many scorched bodies around, the many lives who relied on him and Miraak to save them. And now they were gone. Gone and dead. More blood to stain his hands that he could never wash off. 

“Yeah-“ Elyden coughed from the amount of snot that clogged up his throat, he didn’t really notice of how much he was crying. It was ugly and annoying for everyone involved, including him. He hated it when he cried. He wished he could have his tear ducts removed and emotions in check like a proper person. “G-Give me a second…please.”

“Absolutely not.” Miraak stepped into his view, gently taking his chin and pull down to his level. The atmoran looked exhausted, new grey hairs had spouted among that tight braid of dirty brown locks that had recently grown. His inky black eyes were narrowed and tired from the smoke clogging his vision. He daintily held his broken arm, the one that Elyden snapped in half, against his chest in a makeshift splint and swing salvaged from the village. His remaining chain was nearly melted off among with the blue undergarments that were stained with his and the dragon’s blood. 

“Miraak, honey, I am-“ Elyden sniffled as he tried to pull away from Miraak’s gaze, his emotions causing his irrational heart to beat. “I am  _ so _ sorry for my actions—I am so stupid—“

“Oh stop saying that everytime you mess up!” Miraak’s rolling of eyes made Elyden feel the guilt dig deeper but made a noise of surprise as his treasured one pressed his lips against his. It was soft and genuine, not too long to draw out the tension but long enough to make a bit of the altmer’s stress evaporate. 

Then Miraak slowly drew away, keeping his good hand dipped against Elyden’s hollow cheeks. “We all make mistakes, my silon osley, but what is important is that we learn from them. Right?” He made sure to keep Elyden’s eyes trained on him. 

Elyden gave a slow nod, beginning to relax from the touch and words. He had to relax. He had to calm down. He had to get himself together. “Yes of course, yes.” The elf swallowed as he forced himself to stand up straight, despite how much it hurt his joints. 

“I am still pissed at you for breaking my arm.” Miraak sternly said before going into a small hint of a smile. He handed over the staff for Elyden to lean over on. “But we’ll deal with that later after you-“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> silon osley-->silver flower


	16. Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I got an anon :https://www.tumblr.com/blog/a-tired-elf  
> asking me if Elyden liked to braid Miraak's hair! And so I said: Yes!!! He does!!! And I did an angsty oneshot based off it!!! :DDD

Elyden always liked Miraak’s hair. It was warm and smooth. Shiny and soft. A beautiful brown that reminded him of the many gardens that Miraak owned. But as he was gently brushing his husband’s long locks right by the warm fireplace in the cold evening of Skyrim, he noticed something among the messy bush. Parting the hairline a bit with his fingers, the elf saw a few stray roots of greyed hair. But he also noticed that Miraak had gained laugh lines at the edge of his eyes, grew permanent furrow lines among his forehead and that his cheeks began to sag. 

Though Elyden knew that man aged faster than mer, it still felt too quick for him. He wondered who would die from old age first, him or his husband? The thought scared him. 

 

“Honey?” 

 

“Hm?” 

 

“Do you…” Elyden frowned as he gently held Miraak’s head close to his chest, ignoring his adorable noises of confusion. “Do you fear of getting old?” 

Miraak leaned against him and gave a small scoff. “Elyden I am over a thousand years old.”

The elf shook his head and let him go, letting him turn his head to look at him with those half-lidded brown eyes. “I meant that you aren’t stagnet anymore! You...age.”

The atmoran raised an eyebrow then turned back around to continue on his intricate weaving of another beautiful basket to use for his gardening. He was a bit silent and didn’t speak until he finished the base of his piece, only the cracks of the fire pit and the soft rain outside was audible until now. “Yes I am aging, is it that obvious?” Miracle looked up to him with a small playful look. 

Elyden rolled his eyes. “Honey you know what I mean.” The elf pouted as he gently took Miraak’s chin and gave a small scratch at his bushy beard that was starting to get those very noticeable silver hairs. “Even though I am not sure of how much I have left,” he frowned at the thought of tasting death once again, but this time it would be permanent. “I am still an altmer, who can live from three hundred to thousands of the right magic was used.”

“Does it matter?” Miraak leaned against the scritches with a sigh and half-lidded lazy eyes. His usually dark brown eyes looked nearly black in the lowlight of the fire pit. “As long as I am not in Herma-Mora’s grasps I do not mind dying a bit earlier.” He leaned further onto Elyden’s arms and gave a weird noise that the elf likes to call a purr. 

“Suppose so…” Elyden gently wrapped an arm around his body and tried to scoot him closer. Those words did nothing to cease his worries.


End file.
